i think you want to kiss me
by The Adamant Daughter
Summary: zutara month 2017, day 20: first kiss. on the cusp of the comet, the gaang celebrates katara's 15th birthday. zuko has two presents for her, but he doesn't know it 'til the end.


**_i **think** you want to kiss me  
_** _for_ zutara _month — day 20, first kiss_

"Open mine next!" Aang shoves a haphazardly wrapped package into her arms with abrupt persistence, cutting off the conversation around the campfire.

Katara blushes, sensing Suki's knowing smile and Toph's amused smirk. Even Sokka's staring, which means Aang's being obvious in his advances. Sokka doesn't catch anything when it comes to her love life.

Normally— well, not normally, but before her life-changing-field-trip _(Toph says)_ , Katara wouldn't have been embarrassed by Aang's silly attempts to woo her. But, things are different, now. Things changed.

With _'I'm ready to forgive you.'_ With a hug. With a long, lingering look into soft, melted gold that made her heart stop and her stomach flutter.

Yeah, things are different.

She steals a glance at the firebender sitting cross-legged by her brother. He's looking at her, but he doesn't see the ownership in Aang's eyes. Or, if he does, he's not threatened by it.

Or— and Katara hates this possibility because it means she's been reading everything wrong, from the way he smiles at her to the conversations they steal in the middle of the night— Zuko just isn't interested.

 _Right. Because a disinterested, teenage boy would quarrel over who gets to sit by you in a dark theatre._

Katara warms at the private thought and ducks her head, hiding the pink on her cheeks behind curtains of chocolate hair. Aang has plopped down in the sand right in front her, watching with wide eyes as she tears away brown paper to reveal a narrow box.

She opens it, blushes all over again, and stretches a beaded choker between her hands.

"It— it's lovely. Thank you." Katara smiles at Aang, but within her veins, her pulse is thundering.

It's obvious what the airbender is trying to do, what he's trying to symbolize with the pretty, woven band and the bright, yellow stone that would rest in the hollow of her throat.

Katara doesn't want to hurt him, though. They still have a war to win and Aang needs as much positivity as she can possibly give him. So, she pushes her mother's necklace higher and asks him for help with the clasp, then sets the empty box beside the waterskin from Sokka, the metal earrings from Toph, and the clothes from Suki.

With that, the only gift she hasn't opened is Zuko's. He's clutching his tight in his lap, tapping the shimmery, red paper with his fingertips.

She holds out her hand and gives him a look, "Are you going to give me that?"

"What?" He startles.

His eyes dart around the sand that surrounds his feet. He looks nervous, but Katara can't fathom what the hell he has to worry about. Even if she hated his present, she'd smile and fake it.

"The present," she prompts, pointing.

"Oh— _um,_ okay, well—" Zuko still doesn't relinquish it. "I know you might not need this. You might not even want it, because you've already— well, I can't say, because that'll give it away, but, _um—_ right, it took me days to find this, so I really hope you—"

His voice stalls in his throat, his mouth hanging open like a flopping fish when Katara chuckles.

"Are you done?" she asks.

"Yes. I- I guess." Zuko swallows and extends the item, fussing over the ribbon one more time before finally letting her take it. "I'm not the best at wrapping things. I'm sorry."

"It's fine, Zuko." She's already undone the gold bow that binds it all, but Katara pauses, looking up. "Wrapping paper is meant to be torn and ruined anyway."

"You're right. It's just—"

"I'm always right."

Sokka scoffs, "As if she needs any more encouragement."

"It's her birthday," Suki jabs him, then juts her chin towards Katara. "Go on, please. The suspense is killing me."

"It's not that great," Zuko argues. "I won't care if you hate it."

And Toph pipes up, "Good lying really doesn't run in the family, does it? Azula—"

Katara's annoyed glare silences them all, then she continues on, ripping the red paper away with nervous glee. The wrappings fall to the sand and what's revealed surprises her.

She traces a finger over the seam of a scroll, up to the ends. It's hard to read in the dim firelight, but one glance is all it takes to feel like she's back home.

"This is— these are—"

"It's from the South," Zuko says, softly.

Katara can't contain herself. She unbinds the scroll, unrolls it.

 _There's no way he—_ Her intake of breath is audible. "Zuko, this is a bending scroll from the Southern Tribe. How did you… where did you get this?"

Katara lowers the parchment, somehow tearing her gaze from the beautiful forms. The prince is staring at her, his eyes wide, his lips pressed together in a tense line. He licks them, hesitant.

She can't blame him, truthfully. If she found the scroll in the Fire Lord's home, she'd be furious. How dare the Fire Nation take such traditions, such culture from her people? But… coming from Zuko… she's moved. Katara waits, until finally—

"There's antique shops all around Ember Island. They sell… rarities like that," Zuko murmurs. "I- I kind of stole it... because we need the gold I brought to eat, but, I'm the prince, right? So, it doesn't matter... and I thought it should be back in the hands of a Southern waterbender."

The apple of his throat bobs. "Please tell me you like it."

Katara doesn't answer. She launches herself at him unexpectedly, hugs him. And, it's everything like their first.

His breath halts in his chest. His body stiffens, muscles tense and taut. Katara swears his heart stutters.

Then his heart remembers itself, thuds from his chest into hers and an audible gasp bubbles up, his arms wrap around her waist, and Zuko practically sags into her, his weight welcome and warm.

"I love it," Katara whispers, cupping the back of his head.

His hands settle on either side of her waist. He doesn't say anything, but she knows. He's relieved, he's happy; it might be wishful thinking, but Katara hopes he wants to stay like this, in her arms.

But everyone's watching them, and she's been too close to him for too long. Toph already knows something's going on; at least, there's something happening in Katara's head.

She pulls her fingers through his hair. Slowly, Katara lets Zuko go.

He's smiling at her, his cheeks flushed. He holds her hand for a second longer, then—

"Alright," Sokka is loud, abrasive, intent on breaking them up. "Let's get out that rice wine and get this party started!"

—Zuko squeezes her fingers, shrugs, and takes his hand back.

Her skin tingles at the absence of him.

* * *

While the others are drinking and galavanting around the fire, Katara is off by herself.

Her clothes have been forgotten in the sand, along with her shoes and the waterbending scroll. Katara's left in just her bindings, sopping wet curls sticking to her face and neck. The ocean laps at her thighs and she moves through the Southern stances she's already memorized. The water responds easily. It always does for her, weaving and winding around her body, flowing away and coming back with a mere shift in her weight.

Katara smiles as she lets the water go, breathes in deep, and closes the stance before letting her hands drop to her sides. Her fingertips skim the ocean's surface, playing with the tension. She wades out further until the warm waves caress her stomach and she can twist her toes in the sandy bottom.

Someone scoffs behind her, "I should've known you'd master it all by midnight."

She turns, finding Zuko outlined by the distant light of the campfire. He's standing just short of the surf, his arms crossed, his smile amused and proud.

 _Proud of her?_ she wonders.

"I mastered it all an hour ago," Katara brags. "Now, I'm just swimming."

"Can I join you?"

"I'm not saving you if you shriek over seaweed."

It's hard to tell with the distance, but Katara thinks he rolls his eyes. Then, Zuko bends over, yanking off his boots and grumbling something about that being one time and she should really cut him some slack, considering he was stung by a jellyfish as a child.

Katara smiles to herself, watches as his boots dump in the sand, followed by his vest and tunic. Zuko wades into the water after that, until he's waist deep and right beside her.

The ocean itself seems to freeze. Or maybe it's her heart.

Katara reminds herself to breathe, which she does, sucking in air like she's nearly drowned. She tells herself not to stare, which she can't help, because Zuko's alabaster skin is even prettier in the moonlight, stretched taut over his abdomen.

Zuko glances at her. "Are you okay?"

 _"Hmm?"_ Her eyes pull, almost painfully, from the cut of his hips and flick to his face. "Yes. Yes, I'm fine."

"I'm not bothering you, am I? If you were out here to meditate or—"

"No, no… I was just enjoying the peace."

"It is nice. It's quiet," he agrees, looking out at the darkened waves. The moon glistens on water, wavering somewhere between silver and white. "I didn't grow up with a lot of quiet."

Katara's head tilts toward him, a sympathetic ache in her chest. She could commiserate with him; a part of her wants to, wants to be bitter and miserable because that's easier than being hopeful. She could tell him that none of them had quiet, that there was a war, that with raids coming and fires raging, it's hard to find _any_ quiet, even in the silence of snowy South Pole.

Deep down though, she knows the comment won't do any good.

The comet is on the horizon. Zuko needs hope. They all do.

Katara makes herself smile and says "You're only sixteen, Zuko. You're still growing up."

It surprises her, when she looks to her left, to find Zuko staring at the waves. His eyes are melancholy, his lip is caught between his teeth like he's fighting the urge to cry And she gets it— for so long, for a year now, she hasn't been able to see past the life their stuck in: fighting, running, surviving. A future, no matter the kind of future, is so hard to imagine.

But, Zuko runs a hand through his hair and laughs it off.

"Am I? Do you think I'll get any taller?"

"I think a whole foot," Katara plays along. "And maybe you'll sprout a dragon's tail and wings."

"That'd be something," he smirks.

It's infectious, and soon, they find themselves laughing, and splashing, and shrieking in the foamy waves, hurling jibes and taunts, smiling so brightly for teenagers with the world on their shoulders.

"What else," Zuko asks, wiping water from his face. "What else do you think? I want to know."

The air grows thick again, but not heavy like it was before. It's thick with tension. Katara knows exactly what she thinks, but telling him would mean taking a risk, because it's him she's not sure about.

She stares at him for the better part of a minute, bolstering herself with the secrets she knows about him and the secrets she's shared, the midnight conversations on the balcony and the morning spars on the beach, the smile he has just for her and the giggle she only has for him.

Finally, Katara swallows, finds her voice, "I think you want to kiss me."

 _There._ She holds her chin high, looks him square in the eye. It's out there. The worst that can happen— La, she'd rather sink to the ocean's floor than face all the embarrassment.

And she's ready to, until Zuko gulps, clears his throat. "Will you let me?"

The water was frozen before, like her heartbeat, but now it churns around them. Eager. Impatient. Riddled with anticipation, nerves, and want.

"Because you asked…" Katara nods. She flexes her hands beneath the surface, unsure if she should move towards him, if she should wrap her arms around his neck. "…and because I want to kiss you back."

Zuko doesn't allow her another second to think. He's deliberate, closing the distance before she can take a deep breath, grabbing her wrist to tug her even closer. His forehead rests on hers. He sighs shakily and Katara feels it tickle her lips, then she feels _his_ lips.

They're as sweet as they are soft; and warm. _So warm_. They burn her up, like his element, ignite a fire deep in the pit of her belly that flares up like she's made of kindling. It spreads, wildly, like a spark in dry grass, like molten lava in her limbs.

And when his kiss deepens, when his hands cup her chin, then her neck, the fire reaches her fingertips and sends them into his hair, down his back, digging into his waist.

She could stay here forever, tasting the delicate mix of jasmine tea with honey, hints of salt from the sea spray, notes of heat and spice and smoke. Katara wonders what he tastes on her, but his lips part and his tongue laps at hers and she knows that whatever flavor he finds, he likes.

And she likes it. This. Him. The idea of them.

Katara breaks the embrace to tell him as much, to ask him for that much, but with the separation comes all the worries and fears and troubles she carries.

Her words catch in her throat. "Zuko."

"It's okay," he murmurs. His thumb brushes down her jawline, across her lips. Zuko kisses her again, slowly and tenderly. It's everything she wants, everything she's not ready to have. Not right now.

And he knows. He reads her mind.

"You don't have to explain it," Zuko tells her. "When it's over, if we win…"

"I'll want to kiss you again," Katara says.

She feels Zuko smile against her lips. "And I'll kiss you back."

Then, he tucks her head under his chin, wraps his arms around her shoulders, holds her close.

And for the moment, it's everything Katara needs.


End file.
